Page 7 of Wisteria Winds
“Well, I’m glad you approve,” Bennett said. “I’ll leave you ladies to catch up. Danielle, I’ve made dinner reservations at seven. Cecilia, I hope you’ll join us.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Cecilia said, smiling at him.
After Bennett left, she turned to her daughter. “He seems very nice.”
Danielle laughed. “Well, that’s high praise indeed coming from you.”
It always surprised Danielle that her mother didn’t automatically approve of Bennett simply because he was so wealthy. That usually was one of Cecilia’s primary requirements for men that Danielle dated.
“I’m reserving final judgment,” Cecilia said as she started to unpack her meticulously folded clothes. “I will say he’s very handsome—nice hair, pretty eyes, and definitely smitten with you.”
“Well, I’m smitten with him, too, Mom. And he’s kind, generous, and treats me like an equal partner. That’s more important than any good looks, money, or status.”
Cecilia paused, a silk blouse in her hands. “Oh, is that a dig at me, Danielle? For wanting you to marry well?”
“Well, no, Mom, it’s just…” she sighed. “It’s just me trying to help you understand why I love him and why this place means so much to us.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Look, I know you want some big society wedding for me, but that’s not who I am. It never has been.”
Cecilia sighed and sat beside her daughter. “I just want you to have everything I didn’t have, dear. Your father and I were married at the courthouse because we couldn’t afford anything. I always dreamed of giving you the wedding I never had.”
Danielle took her mother’s hand. “I know, Mom. But you have to understand - this is my dream. I want to marry the man I love, surrounded by people who genuinely care about us. Not a ballroom full of social connections that I couldn’t care less about.”
Cecilia patted her daughter’s hand. “Well, I’m here now. So show me this island of yours, and perhaps I’ll begin to understand what you see here.”
CHAPTER 3
Clara sat at the piano in the community center with her fingers hovering uncertainly over the keys. It had been so many months since she’d played the piano, and longer still since she felt any desire to do so. But after the enthusiastic invitation from the Wisteria Philharmonic, she was drawn here.
The small ensemble Bennett had described watched her, Janice with her violin, Frank clutching his clarinet, and Ted sitting ramrod straight beside his cello. A tiny woman named Emmy Lou sat behind a surprisingly professional-looking drum kit in the back. The people on Wisteria Island were definitely interesting characters. She’d only met a few of them in passing, but she could tell this wasn’t some boring retirement community.
“We’re really honored to have you join us, Mrs. Whitman,” Janice said, her fun pink-tinged hair bobbing as she nodded excitedly. “We’re not professionals, but we enjoy making music together. I’m also very involved in the square dancing community here, if you want to join us.”
Clara thought, definitely not. Although she loved music, dancing was not her thing.
“Please call me Clara,” she said, feeling oddly nervous. She’d certainly played in front of hundreds, if not thousands, of people before, but for some reason, she felt very exposed sitting in the community center of Wisteria Island.
“What piece were you all working on before I arrived?”
The four of them exchanged glances.
“Well, we were attempting Pachelbel’s Canon,” Ted said, “although we fear we weren’t doing it justice. But who cares? We’re just an informal little group of music lovers. We won’t play in the middle of New York City or anything.”
Clara nodded and smiled as she placed her hands on the keys, playing the song’s opening notes. The familiar melody flowed from her fingers, muscle memory taking over, even though she’d had such a long absence from playing the piano. The others joined in, slowly, one by one, each of them hesitant at first, but then she could feel their confidence growing under her steady guidance.
It wasn’t perfect—far from it. Frank came in a beat too early, and Emmy Lou’s drumming was more enthusiastic than precise. This song didn’t require drums, but there she was. Janice occasionally hit notes that made Clara wince internally, but there was just something undeniably joyful in their playing. They had a genuine love for music that transcended the technical limitations they obviously had.
When they reached the final measures, Clara found herself smiling. For the first time since Robert’s death, a real smile reached her eyes. Music had always been their shared language, and playing it with these strangers gave her a connection to him again that felt comforting and not so painful.
“Wow, that was wonderful!” Janice exclaimed when they were finished. “You’re a natural teacher, Clara.”
“Well, all of you play with a ton of heart,” Clara said. “And with some practice, I think we could make something special.”
“So does that mean you’ll come back next week?” Ted asked hopefully.
“Yes, I believe I will,” Clara said.
As they packed up their instruments, they chatted about future repertoire possibilities, and Clara felt a small weight lift from her shoulders. Of course, she wasn’t ready to stand up and conduct, but this small, imperfect ensemble offered something she desperately needed—a reason to engage with the world of music again, one note at a time.
Morty paced outside Dorothy’s cottage, trying to gather his courage before knocking. The former movie star rarely welcomed visitors, certainly not unexpected ones, but he needed her help with the most ambitious project he’d ever taken on: Danielle and Bennett’s wedding.
